


The B---- in Apartment 23

by sassytrousers



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bottom Derek Hale, Daddy Kink, Jealous Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassytrousers/pseuds/sassytrousers
Summary: Derek Hale, aka Stiles' taciturn next door neighbor, has a mystery lover. A very, very talented one. And Stiles was going to find out who it is if it kills him (it very well might).





	The B---- in Apartment 23

It happened every Sunday, at exactly 12:15 pm.

Had been happening since Stiles had moved into this semi-decrepit brownstone in a once-seedy part of Brooklyn, that was now being gentrified like wildfire. Acai bowl and chopped salad places were popping up faster than you could say "locally brewed craft IPA."

Stiles was not a morning person--in fact, he kind of hated perky morning people and their self-discipline and go-getter attitudes that had no place in the rudest (and proud of it) place on earth, New York City. Anyway, suffice to say that if it was around noon on a weekend, you could find him all cozy in his twin bed with tasteful, I'm-23-and-I'm-not-ashamed-of-my-geekiness-anymore-well-mostly BB-8 sheets pulled up over his head.

 _Wham!_ The wall shook with the impact of a heavy four-poster bed slamming into it.

"Yes! Oh god yes, please--Daddy, harder! Ugh--"

This was Stiles' dilemma. Of course, Stiles could totally move his bed to the other side of the tiny apartment. But apparently he loved torturing himself with what, or who, he couldn't have.

"S-so big, Daddy--fill me up. _Make me yours!_ "

That was his favorite and most hated sound in the world.

The dulcet tones of his gruff, tough, could-be-a-Hallmark-movie-lead-if-not-for-his-intense-semisweet-chocolate-eyes neighbor getting pounded into incoherence. This was the most he'd ever heard the gorgeous older man speak.

And holy crap was it a turn on. Stiles had no idea he was into being called Daddy until he'd first heard the frankly unforgettable moans three months ago.

It was his first time living on his own, fresh out of college and ready to work for beans in the Big Apple as an intern for a popular political science podcast. After dragging all his stuff up three flights of stairs on a swampy July morning, Stiles had sprung into full "Great British Bake-Off" action.

He'd blasted some Queen while he whipped together some devil's food cupcakes to win over his floormates, determined to make new friends since he didn't know anyone in the city. It was lunchtime by the time he'd managed not to burn anything or at least quickly put out the fire (no one could ever know of his soggy bottoms. Ever.).

First up, Apartment 23. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. Feeling emboldened by all the sugar he'd inevitably consumed, he may have banged on the door a bit. Or a lot. Until the most beautiful speciman of a homo sapien opened the door, sculpted face flushed with anger, flawless tanned chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

He ran a hand through his tousled black hair and barked, "What the fuck do you want."

Stiles could barely remember his own name, let alone why he was there. He stared at the man's low slung pajama pants and swallowed hard, thrusting his baked goods towards him.

"I'm, uh, Stiles. Neighbor. I made...cupcakes?"

Derek (Stiles had learned his name from various oblong packages that piled up outside Apt 23, y'know, just casually peeking as is human nature) snarled, grabbed the entire tray of cupcakes and slammed the door. Stiles had floated back to his apartment, mind whirling like an overworked laptop desperately trying to cool itself down.

Unfortunately, their interactions had not improved from there.

Derek was...not an eloquent man. That is, despite Stiles' countless attempts to crack open his tough exterior (you didn't get "Most Talkative" as a senior superlative for nothing), Derek had never graced him with more than a few grunts after their extremely awkward first meeting, refusing to meet his eyes.

And by next week, Stiles had an inkling as to why Derek had been so grumpy that first day.

Clearly, their beds were on opposite sides of the same wall.

Good god, there was no way the man was getting his security deposit back. There had to be structural damage to the wall with all the banging. He was so freaking jealous of this ghost lover shacking up with his Der--um, neighbor.

What kind of guy was he? He never made a sound during sex. Was he a robot? Did he treat Derek right outside of bed? Was he also ridicously symmetrical in face and body? Stiles imagined a burly guy with a thick neck and arms that could rip phone books in half spanking Derek's bubble butt until he cried, calling him "baby girl" and soothing him after a scene...OK, this was a dangerous train of thought. Did this hunky hulk work nights or something because Stiles never saw a glimpse of him. He even camped out on his rickety balcony with his spy binoculars he'd gotten in a box of Apple Jacks when he was eight and never threw out for some reason for a whole Sunday afternoon.

Nada.

How was Stiles supposed to compete with a phantom? Because, OK, this was a stretch, but he had this gut feeling that he and Derek were incredibly compatible. Yeah, they'd never had a conversation, but obviously they were sexually in sync.

A few weeks ago, they had both reached for the front door at the same time and their fingers had brushed for a split second. His neighbor blushed furiously and speed walked (ran away) down the block, while Stiles had to make sure his hair wasn't on end from the electric spark he'd felt when they'd touched.

Beyond the physical, he knew Derek was well-read since he got _The_ _New York Times_ delivered every day. Derek recycled too, which was an unexpected bonus.

Stiles had totally not creepily checked his recyclables, and wow, the dude could do a Thursday crossword. He struggled with a lot of the pop culture references, judging by his angry scribbles next to those clues, but that's where Stiles came in.

Even better, Derek must hide a sense of humor beneath those deeply furrowed brows, because Stiles was 96% sure the wifi named "rIP Hedwig" was his.

If only Stiles could find a way to get him off guard just enough to show Derek how good they'd be together.

But then he found the lacy lilac panties in Derek's laundry (it was a shared laundry room, OK? Total accident. Stiles had taken to walking around in public shirtless for lack of clean clothes. He super needed to do the wash and definitely not because he saw Derek hauling his clothes downstairs earlier).

Derek's invisible Daddy was...a woman?

Alright, don't buy into stereotypes, Stiles. You learned this in Gender Studies. The gender binary is a construct. Strong masculine bros can also be into delicate undergarments. Just because you found silky expensive-looking lingerie doesn't mean--

Oh shit, a cheerleading costume? Was his sexy neighbor harboring a younger paramour who pegged him on the reg?

Lately, Stiles had noticed a major uptick in the wall banging. It didn't just happen on the Lord's Day--it was nearly every day.

He sighed, slamming the old washer machine shut with more force than necessary. Time to be a grown up and smooth things over with Derek once and for all.

He carefully folded his neighbor's laundry and laid it in his basket. It was Thursday night and the dark-haired man had just come home from a shopping trip, it seemed. Surely it was a safe time to extend a metaphorical olive branch.

Nope.

Well, he might as well take care of his own business, which happened to pop up when Derek was getting plowed like freshly fallen snow. Stiles had been meaning to check out this popular new streaming service and coincidentally, user Sourlollipup was currently hosting a livestream that was blowing up with tens of thousands views in the past ten minutes.

Five dollars was more than he was used to shelling out for his porn, but the regular plug and play stuff just wasn't doing it for him since he'd become mildly obsessed with a certain grumpypants. And the money supported the cam stars, who surely deserved it. 

Stiles settled in, the tantalizing laundry forgotten for now as he clicked on the stream.

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first ever fanfic after years of ideas and false starts. It just poured out of me and I'm thowing it up before I lose my nerve. I really hope to keep going. This is such fun and also a rush! If I finish this, it will be my first complete work in a graveyard of half-baked stories.


End file.
